


Ride like the Wind

by Dextrousleftie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2385749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dextrousleftie/pseuds/Dextrousleftie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something strange about Mitchell Camfield's new jockey...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [origi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=origi).



Mitchell Camfield stood on the stands and stared down the track. His breath hung in the early morning air, which was chilly. He was glad for his fur-lined leather gloves and his heavy camel hair overcoat. Beside him, his trainer Darren Hagger was rubbing his hands together in their half-gloves for warmth. “Any minute now,” Darren muttered, his eyes fixed on a spot further down the track. 

Mitchell grunted in acknowledgement of his words. Just then, they both saw a horse running fluidly toward them, its stride even and sure. It breezed past them, the work out jockey easy in the saddle. This wasn’t a race; it was simply an exercise for the horse, and a way for its owner to see how well it was doing in its training. Mitchell could see that the gelding’s hindquarters had caught up with his forequarters at last. Before, the horse had had an unbalanced stride that had looked very awkward. Now his gait was smooth.  
“He looks good,” he said aloud.

“Yeah. He’s coming along. I think we’ll win some races with him this year.”  
Mitchell was pleased to hear this. Ark Raider(he was a huge fan of the Indiana Jones movies)had not performed well when he was yearling, but he’d still been growing then. Darren had advised him to be patient, and he’d done so. He could see the results now, in the horse’s smooth stride and steady gait. “What will you be entering him in?” He asked Darren.

“There’s a two-year-old mile coming up in a few days. He can handle it. I’ve already paid the entry fees.”

“I’ll be sure and come to see him race,” Mitchell told him. He loved to watch his horses run.

Darren nodded. “Anyway, let’s go inside out of the wind. It’s cold today,” he remarked. “Oh, and I have some more news for you. I hired you a new jockey.”

Mitchell’s brows lifted. “Oh? Why is that? What was wrong with Bennie?”

Darren shrugged phlegmatically. “Bennie’s fine. I’m still keeping him on to ride horses for some of the other owners. But the jockey I hired for YOU happens to be one of the top riders in the country. He rode for Kingsbury Stables up until I lured him away with the promise of a hefty pay raise. Ronald Kingsbury is beside himself.” Darren’s grin was wicked.

Mitchell chuckled. Darren and Ronald Kingsbury had a well known feud going on; the two men loathed each other with a passion. He didn’t care as long as his horses didn’t suffer for it. Darren looked like a cat which had gotten into a canary cage, and he supposed that he had the right to feel that way if he’d one-upped Ronald, and stolen a valuable jockey from him at the same time. 

“His name is Phaedron Ramsey,” Darren added.

“Phaedron?” Mitchell’s brows rose again. “That’s a rather…odd name, isn’t it?”

“I guess it’s Greek,” Darren told him with another shrug as they left the stands together and headed for the stable blocks. “Anyway, I don’t care. The boy can ride like the wind, so he can have any strange or stupid moniker that he wants.”

Mitchell had to concede that riding ability was far more important than having an odd name. As they walked down the concrete aisle between the rows of stall doors, Darren nodded ahead of them. “There he is, with Last Crusade.”

Mitchell looked and saw a delicate, slender creature standing by the stall door and rubbing the nose of one of his best horses, Last Crusade. Phaedron Ramsey looked to be all of five-foot-four, and his slim body looked like it was naturally that way. He probably didn’t have to sweat or exercise off the pounds to stay in his weight range. He had a head of inky curls, and as he turned toward them Mitchell saw a narrow face with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and a wide forehead. A pair of fine grey eyes watched the two men approach him. 

Oddly enough, that face looked somehow…familiar. Mitchell frowned to himself as Phaedron Ramsey stared at him, and he saw the grey eyes widen for a moment before that narrow face closed a shutter down and left it perfectly expressionless. He could swear that the jockey was startled at the sight of him. Now why was that? And why did the man somehow seem to be familiar?  
“Morning, Ramsey,” Darren grunted.

“Good morning, Mr. Hagger,” the jockey replied in a pleasant, mid-timber voice. 

“You ready to ride today?”

“Yes. Last Crusade and I will have a good outing today, I think,” he said judiciously, still rubbing the nose of the horse affectionately.

“Great. Phaedron, this is the man who owns Last Crusade. Mitchell  
Camfield, I’d like you to meet Phaedron Ramsey.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Camfield,” the jockey sad in a toneless voice. His grey eyes, completely closed down, met Mitchell’s before dating away again. 

“Same here. Darren says that you’re going to ride my horses right,” he said pleasantly.

“I’ll do my very best,” Phaedron told him, still not looking at him. He seemed to be communing intently with the horse. 

“That’s all I can ask. There is one thing, though…” he trailed off, then said quietly: “Have we ever met before, Mr. Ramsey?”

A stiffening of the jockey’s spine, just barely visible. “I’m sure that we haven’t, Mr. Camfield,” he replied steadily. 

“Odd. You look familiar. Oh, well, I’m probably mixing you up with someone else,” Mitchell said.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Phaedron said coolly. 

Mitchell studied that delicate profile. He was absolutely sure that he’d met this man somewhere before, and that Phaedron remembered that meeting even if he couldn’t. Clearly, the jockey didn’t want him to remember when they’d last met. He wondered why. It had probably been on a track somewhere when he’d gone to see one of his horses race. Had he made such a bad impression on the man?

“Well,” he remarked, consulting his wristwatch, “I have to get going. I’ve a big meeting to get to. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ramsey.”

The jockey shot him an enigmatic sideways glance. Mitchell shook hands with Darren and remarked that he’d be coming to the races at the end of the week, when Last Crusade ran again. As he left, he threw a glance over his shoulder. The jockey was still standing by the stall, but he was staring after Mitchell’s retreating form. And his expression startled Mitchell. He was sure it was one of…fear. Now why would that be? Why would his new jockey be terrified of him? Now he had to figure this out, or otherwise it would drive him crazy.

 

 

He arrived home at six-thirty, and went straight to his study. His brain was teasing him with a vague memory that he couldn’t quite recall, and he wanted to look over the photo albums that his mother had sent him a few years ago. They were full of pictures of his childhood, faithfully catalogued by his zealous parent. 

He sat down in his leather oxblood wingback chair, behind his hand-carved antique desk, and stacked the photo albums on the desk in front of them. He began to rifle through them slowly, looking at the pictures and shaking his head at his mother’s photo fanaticism. Even the smallest events in his life had been caught on film. Here was one from his childhood when he’d gone on vacation - separate from his parents, who’d been summering in the Hamptons - to a Kentucky horse farm that raised and trained some of the best race horses in the country. His love of horses and riding had already been firmly established by then, and his parents had indulged him when he’d begged to visit the farm to learn all about race horses. 

Here he was, aged fifteen, standing in front of the big white house with the wrap-around verandah, a smile on his face. And here he was, standing by a corral with a horse and rider inside of it. His mother had paid to send his best friend, Jerry Seaton, with him on the trip, and had generously paid Jerry to take dozens of photos of him for her album. His lips quirked upward in a small smile at those memories, as he flipped through the pictures.

Then he found one that made him stiffen and his mouth drop open. His eyes widened as he stared down at a photograph of the farm owner’s daughter, a slim, tiny girl who had been an amazing rider even at the tender age of thirteen, sitting in the saddle of a tall horse. Her hands were wrapped around the reins, and she was smiling a little for the camera. Her steady grey eyes looked out of the picture, much as they had today at the track. But in this photo, she was definitely a girl! He could see her small breasts under the turtleneck sweater that she was wearing. Her curly dark hair was pulled back in a tail behind her head. He gazed at her face, knowing that somehow, someway, this was the same person as the new jockey that his trainer had hired. 

He pulled the photo out of its protective sleeve, and turned it over to look at the writing on the back. In his mother’s neat penmanship, the photo was labeled: Phaedra Wilson, July 94’. His breath caught. Phaedra, Phaedron. The same eyes and hair, the same narrow face. As far as he could remember, Carl Wilson’s daughter hadn’t had an identical male twin. Which would have been impossible, anyway. And while fraternal twins often resembled one another closely, this resemblance was simply too great. There was only one conclusion that he could draw from this photo - Phaedra Wilson and Phaedron Ramsey were the exact same person. 

 

There was only one way that could be possible. Phaedron was transgender. He’d started out life as a girl. Odd as the coincidence was, that he’d ended up employing that girl from that long ago summer on the horse farm, it was the only logical explanation. Mitchell frowned thoughtfully down at the photo, wondering about Phaedra and how she had come to be a he. He wasn’t using his family’s name anymore - had Carl disowned his daughter when she revealed that she was really a boy not a girl, and that she intended to get the surgery to make herself into one? He knew what that was like. His own family had almost disowned him when he’d revealed that he was gay, and in many cases people seemed to consider being transgender even worse. They simply couldn’t wrap their heads around the concept that their child wanted to be the opposite sex from the way they’d been born. 

Whatever the case, now that his curiosity was satisfied this wasn’t going to be an issue for him. He didn’t care that Phaedron Ramsey had once been Phaedra Wilson. Everyone had the right to live their lives in a way that made them happy. If, in Phaedron’s case, that had included becoming a boy rather than a girl, so be it. The man could ride horses well. That’s all he cared about. There was no need to bring this up to the jockey. He tucked the photo back under the protective plastic, and closed the photo album. This was none of his business anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phaedron shows his worth.

Mitchell stood in the stands and watched as a long line of horses walked up to the track to the starting gates. Among them was his horse Last Crusade, a tall beast with a reddish chestnut coat and white blaze down his nose. The animal was clearly feeling restive, nodding his head and prancing rather than walking. But Phaedron had him well in hand, not letting the horse wear himself out before the race even began. The jockey sat very still in the saddle, only using his wrist and fingers to control the fractious racehorse. 

The horses arrived at the line of starting gates, and were loaded into the narrow boxes. Last Crusade snorted and balked a bit, but soon enough was installed into the box by the handler and Phaedron. Once they were all loaded properly, the bell went off and the starting gates opened. The horses dashed out in a long line, thundering down the track on the first straight. 

Mitchell heard the track commentator start up. “And they’re off! It’s Dusty Roads in the lead, followed by Parabola, with Gerald’s Day right behind them….” he ran down the list of horses as the race went on, listing Last Crusade as being in the very middle of the tightly clustered pack. The horse was running well, and Phaedron had him on the outside where he could make a clean run once he started to make his move. Better that than be boxed in the middle of the pack of horses, because sometimes it was impossible to get out once you were hemmed in. It just meant that Last Crusade would have a longer row to hoe when he did make his move, than if he’d been up against the rails.

The leaders swept around the first turn, and Dusty Roads was already flagging a bit. The second horse passed him by, and the tight cluster of horses began to break up a bit as individual jockeys began to make their moves. Phaedron continued to hold Last Crusade where he was, not making a move too soon. The race surged down the far side straight, then around the other corner. 

Just as Mitchell began to worry that Phaedron was going to leave it too long, the jockey shook up his reins and leaned forward, giving Last Crusade his head. The big animal joyfully sprang forward, as he’d been waiting for this moment fort the entire race. He wanted to run! And run he did, splendidly, recklessly, all-out as he set his sights on the leaders. He passed a half a dozen horses right away, thundering along on the outside of the pack, stretching his head forward eagerly. Phaedron didn’t even bother to use his whip. He let Last Crusade do what he wanted to do, and the horse responded beautifully. They were nearing the clubhouse turn again, and Last Crusade was gaining visibly on the four horses in the lead. 

They roared around the turn and headed for the finish line. Last Crusade passed the fourth horse like it was nothing, then the third. He was running like the wind, surging forward, his hooves digging into the dirt and throwing up clods behind him. The two lead horses were tiring, and Last Crusade set his sights on them with grim determination.

Last Crusade swept by the second horse. Mitchell began to cheer, not being able to help himself. This was so exciting he could barely breathe. THIS was why he owned racehorses, right here! Because the race was coming down to the wire, and Last Crusade’s head was at the leader’s shoulder now. The finish line was right in front of them…

 

Phaedron tapped Last Crusade with his whip, once. The horse found reserves of speed and strength somewhere, and thundered past the lead horse with only seconds to spare. His nose passed the finish line just in front of the other horse’s, and Mitchell knew that his horse had won! He yelled and threw his arms up in the air, as he watched Phaedron begin to ease Last Crusade up into a walk. The horse was prancing and throwing his head about, clearly knowing that he’d won and was a champion. 

 

Mitchell made his way down to the winner’s circle, his chest swelling with pride. He had to give it to his trainer - Phaedron was a definite gem. He’d run that race just right from start to finish, and Last Crusade wasn’t worn out from his hard run. He was definitely giving his new jockey a bonus for his performance. He deserved it.

Last Crusade was standing in the winner’s circle with a large spray of flowers draped over his shoulders. Phaedron had gotten out of the saddle, and stood by the horse’s head. He was patting his mount’s nose, crooning to Last Crusade about what a good horse he was, what a great job he’d done, how proud Phaedron was of him. The animal seemed to be listening intently.

Mitchell smiled as he stepped into the winner’s circle and accepted the congratulations of the racetrack officials, shaking their hands. “Phaedron,” he said over the noise of the crowds and the people talking nearby.

The jockey turned toward him. Was it his imagination, or did the man look wary? “Great job,” Mitchell said, meaning it. “You ran a splendid race.”

Phaedron nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Camfield,” he said quietly. “But it was as much Last Crusade here as it was me. He’s an amazing animal. He did everything I asked him to.”

“Yes, he’s wonderful,” Mitchell agreed, stepping forward to give his horse a brisk slap on the neck. “You two make a great team. I’ll be happy to give you a bonus for your performance today. And him a basket full of carrots, the big lug.”

He saw Phaedron smile slightly out of the corner of his eye. But just then, Darren came around the horse from where he’d been inspecting Last Crusade’s feet and pronounced the horse fit as a fiddle. “Great job, Phaedron,” he drawled to the jockey. “You took good care of him out there today.”

The jockey looked pleased at his words. Darren turned to Mitchell. “With him running like this, and Phaedron in the saddle, I don’t see why we can’t shoot for some of the really big races this year. You game?”

“Bring it on!” Mitchell said enthusiastically, making Darren grin.

“You got it, boss. Come on, big fellah. Let’s get you back to your stall,” he led the beast away, as Phaedron turned to Mitchell. 

He was still carrying his own bouquet of winner’s flowers, but he held them out to Mitchell. “Would you take these, Mr. Camfield? I have to go weigh in now.”

“Of course,” Mitchell took the flowers and watched his new jockey walk away. He marveled silently to himself that this slender man had once been an awkward teenage girl. He remembered her now, as a quiet, gawky, withdrawn creature who’d only blossomed when she was on a horse’s back. There, she was a master of the universe. Horses did whatever she asked of them. He remembered, as a fifteen-year-old boy, being thoroughly impressed watching that slight figure put horses through their paces. Now, as a thirty-five-year old man, he still felt the same way. Because she - now he - was just as skilled as when he’d been thirteen, and still a girl. 

Of course, when he’d been only a girl, he hadn’t been the least bit interesting personally to a boy who’d already figured out that he liked other boys. But now…Mitchell could admit to himself that he found Phaedron Ramsey thoroughly attractive. Had he, when he’d still been Phaedra, been attracted to other girls or to boys? He wondered about that very intensely, because if Phaedra had identified as a heterosexual when she was a girl, then Phaedron was probably still attracted to men now that he was a man. 

 

He sighed to himself and left the winner’s circle to have a drink in the clubhouse bar with some of the racing officials. The question was probably moot anyway, since Phaedron tended to look at him with suspicion and wariness rather than any kind of interest. Probably Phaedron remembered clearly where HE’D met Mitchell Camfield before, and he had to be worried sick that the owner was going to fire him if he remembered that Phaedron had once been a girl. The prejudice against transgendered people was deep and ugly. 

Mitchell didn’t get that. He really didn’t. So someone had once been of one sex and was now of the other sex. So what? It didn’t matter in the least. They weren’t hurting anybody, having sex change operations, so he just didn’t see why so many people hated transgender people so much. But then, he’d never understood the prejudices against gay people like himself, either. If they weren’t hurting anyone, only doing what made them happy, why were so many people so virulently against them? It made no sense. He really didn’t understand human beings, most of the time. They were a mystery to him.

Now horses were a different story. Horses he understood. They were simple creatures, who were happy to eat and sleep and fuck and run their hearts out. They didn’t hate other horses, or spend their time nosing into other horses’ business. They just wanted to do their own thing and enjoy themselves. People could take a lesson from horses. 

 

That’s probably why he had no long-term life partner yet, Mitchell mused to himself as he leaned back in the leather wingback chair in the V.I.P. lounge in the clubhouse and sipped at a tumbler of neat whiskey. He’d yet to find a man who had a similar personality to a horse. Men came with complications and drama and flaming over-emotionalism - or at least a lot of them seemed to, anyway. The men he’d dated had all seemed decent at first,, but the moment they’d become attached to him they’d changed. They’d bugged him about becoming serious, they’d nagged at him to talk about his emotions, they’d gotten on his case about his not being romantic enough or not paying enough attention to them. His stomach always knotted when they would dissolve into tears, especially since he really had no idea just what he’d done that was so wrong. Sure, they had a place in his life, but Mitchell didn’t believe that another person should become your WHOLE life. Any more than you should be THEIR whole life. He thought that a life’s partner should enhance your life, but definitely not become the whole of it. 

 

But whenever he’d tried to say that to a man he’d been dating, there had been yelling and scenes and tears. And that had been that. Relationship over. He was completely baffled by the reactions he kept getting, and wished that someone could explain it to him so that he wouldn’t be in the dark all the time. Was there something he was missing? Some basic component that all other people seemed to have automatically? Whatever the case, he preferred being alone to drama and scenes and tears. And the way it was going, it looked like he’d be alone for the rest of his life…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phaedron learns that his secret has been discovered.

Phaedron Ramsey stood tensely in a corner with a drink in his hand. His eyes were resting on the face of the owner that he rode for, Mitchell Camfield. He had only reluctantly come to this little cocktail party that Mitchell was throwing to celebrate the half-dozen wins that Phaedron had ridden his horses to in the last month; he never wanted to be near Mitchell Camfield if he could help it. 

He had his reasons. The first, and biggest, was the fact that if Mitchell ever remembered just where he’d met Phaedron before, the jockey was sure that he’d be out of a job in a heartbeat. Transgender people were not well-liked by other people, not even often by the gay and lesbian folk who should have been their closest allies. If Mitchell ever recalled the thirteen-year old girl that he’d met on the Kentucky horse farm so long ago, he’d hit the roof and fire Phaedron. He was sure of it.

He was utterly sure that Mitchell WOULD remember him eventually, because he himself remembered Mitchell so well. Truth be told, his thirteen year old female self had had a major crush on the handsome boy who’d come to visit her father’s horse farm. And he could also admit, even if just to himself, that the adult male version of himself still had a thing for the tall, handsome, grave-faced Mitchell Camfield. Which was ridiculous. It was insane to have a crush on a guy who might remember at any moment that you’d once been a girl. Mitchell would be sure to freak out about that fact, even though Phaedron was aware that his boss was actually gay. He’d had even gay men in the past lose it when he admitted that he’d once been a girl. Several past boyfriends hadn’t been able to handle it. He was used to rejection for being who he was, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

He sighed and sipped at his drink, wishing he could be anywhere else but here. But he couldn’t blow off this party; Darren had specified that this was a party being held partly to celebrate his success as a jockey, so he HAD to be here. God, he hated the limelight. And not just because he was a transgender person, either; he simply didn’t like being the center of attention if he could help it. Not even when it was positive attention. He would much rather have spent the evening curled up in a chair at home reading a good book by the fire. He’d always hated parties.

 

He saw Mitchell standing across the room, talking to Darren and a small group of other people. The man just had so much PRESENCE. He stood out from the crowd. Phaedron was used to feeling small next to other men, being so tiny. But something about Mitchell made him feel protected rather than diminished whenever he was near the other man. He just wanted to stand at Mitchell’s side, and let the man take on the world for him. Wistful sadness over what might have been if he weren’t a transgender(and a transgender that Mitchell happened to know, at that) ran through him. It would never happen. He was destined to spend the rest of his life alone, simply because he’d had to be who he really was. 

He’d never felt like a girl. Ever. He’d always been a tomboy, wanting to do boy’s things and wear his hair short and only wear pants. When his boobs had started to grow in, and his periods had begun, he’d freaked out. This wasn’t him, this alien thing happening to his body. He’d taken to binding his breasts, though he could do nothing about his periods except work out so much that his extremely athletic body finally almost stopped menstruating altogether. By the time he was seventeen, he’d known what he had to do. He had to become who he really was. So he’d researched the surgeries, and hormone therapies, and all of the things that he’d have to do to become a male at last. It was expensive, all of it. Fortunately, he’d had a good bit of money that came to him on his eighteenth birthday from a trust fund set up by his grandfather.

So he’d told his father what he was going to do, hoping for his parent’s support. Instead, his father had rejected him completely. He was the man’s daughter, not his son! His father had raged, before threatening to kick him out of the house permanently if he went through with this. Phaedron(then Phaedra still) had packed his bags and left the house, tears streaming down his(her)- face. He’d never looked back. While he sent his father Christmas cards and birthday cards, he never tried to get in contact with him. In his opinion, his father knew what his number was. He could call if he ever changed his mind.

The almost two year transition phase between girl and boy was a long and lonely struggle for Phaedron. But he was grimly determined. He was a male; he needed to become physically what he’d always been in his head. The day he could stand in front of the mirror and his naked male form was the day he really felt free at last. He’d cried that day too, but those had been tears of joy. He was ready to start his life as Phaedron Ramsey, leaving Phaedra Wilson behind him forever.

 

He’d started his career as a jockey as an exercise rider for a local stable. Slowly but surely he’d progressed from that to being an alternate jockey for that same stable, riding in races whenever the main jockey couldn’t. And as his talent was recognized, he was finally hired as the main jockey for a bigger racing stable. From there, he’d ended up working for Mr. Kingsbury, a prominent trainer. And had been lured away with the promise of more money, bonuses and gifts by Darren, not realizing until they’d come face-to-face just who his new employer was…

He supposed that he should have. How many men in this country were named Mitchell Camfield? But even if he’d known, would he have turned the job down? He doubted it. It was just too good a job offer. And he hoped that his successes on the race course would even out the whole transgender thing, should Mitchell ever remember just where they’d met before. He could only hope. Things like this party were a good sign that Mitchell was coming to value him for his skill. 

 

As though he were aware of Phaedron’s gaze on him, Mitchell’s head turned and their eyes met. Phaedron felt his stomach muscles tighten and his mouth go dry. Damn this schoolgirl crush! Mitchell said something to the people he was talking with, and began to head in his direction. Phaedron felt himself start to panic. He would have fled, but the room was very crowded. There was no way that he could get out before Mitchell reached him. So he tried for a very stiff smile, which felt like a rictus. “Good evening, Mr. Canfield,” he managed to choke out as Mitchell approached him.

“Good evening, Phaedron. Aare you having a good time?” Mitchell asked him pleasantly.

He nodded his head jerkily, unable to lie aloud. Mitchell’s lips quirked up a little. “No, you’re not,” he said confidently. “Not that I can blame you. I never really have a good time at these sorts of things, either. They’re just obligatory, I’m afraid. And at least the booze is free,” he added, lifting his glass a little.

Phaedron found himself laughing, tense as he was. “Yes, there is that,” he agreed. “Not that I can drink too much. I have to ride tomorrow.”

“Yes, on Last Crusade. You and he have a definite rapport going. You do well with all of my horses, but you and he have something special.”

Phaedron was surprised that Mitchell had noticed the bond growing between him and Last Crusade. Not all owners were that aware of their horses, or their jockeys for that matter. But Mitchell’s perceptiveness only made him feel more tense and wary. Surely the man would discover his secret soon? 

Suddenly, anger swept through him. Anger at all of the people who had snubbed him or hated him or rejected him just because he’d once been a girl and was now a boy. He was SO sick of it all! He met Mitchell’s eyes, and something in his steely gaze made the other man’s brows rise a little. “I have a confession to make, Mr. Camfield,” he gritted out between his teeth, knowing that he was probably destroying his career but not caring right at this moment. 

“Oh?”

Phaedron nodded. “Do you remember when we first met? You asked me where we’d met before. I didn’t answer you at the time, but I’m going to now. It was when you were a teenager. You came to my father’s Kentucky horse farm to learn the ropes about owning and training race horses, and I was there. You might not remember me -my name was Phaedra then, Phaedra Wilson. I was the owner’s daughter,” he went on steadily, still meeting Mitchell’s eyes. He was tired of hiding. 

Mitchell studied his face. “Were you scared to tell me that before, Phaedron?” He asked quietly.

He nodded tightly. “Yes. Most people don’t react well to learning that you’re a transgender person. I expect that you’ll fire me now, but I simply don’t care. I’m not ashamed of who I am.” and he lifted his head proudly, waiting for the axe to fall.

Mitchell nodded. “Nor should you be,” he replied, making Phaedron’s jaw drop. “And the things is, Phaedron, I’ve known since the first day who you were. And who you used to be,” he went on pleasantly. “I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now. All I’m concerned about is the way you ride my horses. That’s all that’s important.”

Stunned, Phaedron just stood there staring at the man. Mitchell’s lips lifted in another smile, and he took a sip of his drink as he waited for his jockey to recover his aplomb. “H-How did you know?” Phaedron asked weakly.

“Photo albums, “Mitchell replied succinctly. “My mother loved having pictures of me taken, so she had my friend Jerry take dozens of that summer I spent on the horse farm. When I went back through them, there was a photo of you on a horse. And it was clearly you, even though the person in the photo was a girl. I realized then that you must be a transgender, but I didn’t care. That is your own, personal, private business. It doesn’t concern me or anybody else what you choose to do with your own body or how you choose to live your life. That’s why I never said anything before, I just figured that you were a private sort of person who wouldn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t realize that you were afraid that I’d fire you if I found out. Don’t be scared anymore, Phaedron. Your secret is safe with me,” he said, lifting a finger to his lips. “And your job is secure as well.”

Oh, God, he wanted to cry. He had to blink back tears at Mitchell’s understanding, kindness, and discretion. No one had ever reacted this way before about finding out that he was a transgender person. It made him want to break down, and sob out all of the tears that he’d kept inside of himself all of these years as he’d faced rejection over and over again because of who he was. To find even one person who understood and accepted him for who he was…it was like a miracle. Mitchell Camfield was his own personal miracle. 

 

A/N: If you like my stories on here, I also have a good selection for sale on Amazon. Just look for my pen name Dextrousleftie. And happy reading, one and all. -DL


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little care and understanding

Mitchell felt a blow to his gut when Phaedron’s large, clear, beautiful grey eyes welled with sudden tears. His long lashes fluttered as he tried to blink them away, and a discrete little sniff melted Mitchell’s heart. How adorable his new jockey was! “I-I’m sorry,” Phaedron stuttered, wiping angrily at his eyes. 

Mitchell shook his head. “Don’t be. Come on,” he said, taking Phaedron’s arm. Come with me.”

Phaedron looked startled, but followed him tamely as Mitchell led him out of the crowded room and away to a door down the hall. He opened this door, revealing a cozy library with a small fire burning in the fireplace. I decanter half-full of amber liquid and a cut crystal glass sat on a tray next to a deep leather chair. “I intended to come in here and unwind after that little shindig was over,” Mitchell explained to Phaedron gently. “I thought perhaps you might like some time alone to pull yourself together. Feel free to have a drink, if you don’t mind whiskey.” he nodded at the decanter.

Phaedron gasped a little, and his slender hands fluttered up to his chest. “You’re so kind,” he said softly. He blinked back more tears, futilely. “No one’s ever been this kind to me before,” he went on, as his chest heaved with small sobs. His lower lip trembled.

Mitchell couldn’t help himself. Phaedron’s lonely anguish pulled at him. He stepped forward and gathered the small body up in his arms, cradling Phaedron as he set one hand on the back of the jockey’s head to pet the inky curls. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

“You do, don’t you?” Phaedron said muffled against his chest as his small hands clutched at the front of Mitchell’s white dress shirt. “Oh, God, you really do,” then he said no more, because the tears started in earnest. His body was trembling, wracked with sobs, as he let all of his pent up emotions go at long last.

Mitchell held him close, letting him get it all out. He loved having Phaedron in his arms. The slender body seemed to somehow fit so perfectly with his own, despite the fact that the jockey’s head barely came up to his shoulder. One hand continued to massage the back of Phaedron’s head, as the other one stroked up and down the jockey’s back in a comforting rhythm.   
Phaedron cried and cried, letting all of his misery out. Mitchell held him close, saying nothing, giving the comfort and closeness that he so desperately needed. 

Finally, he was done. He leaned against Mitchell’s body, utterly exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he choked out again.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mitchell told him somberly. “You were worried and scared about my reaction. You must have encountered lots of bad reactions to the news that you’re transgender before this, for you to be so terrified of the outcome. And that’s wrong. Really wrong. People don’t have the right to condemn you for living your life as you see fit. They have no right to call you a freak or a pervert because you were born into the wrong body. You can’t help your need to be who you are, any more than a gay person like me can help being gay. Being condemned for the way you were born is a cruel thing, and no one should have to endure that. No one.”

Phaedron lifted his head, revealing a tear-streaked face. His eyes were swollen and red, and he looked tired but also much more peaceful. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For understanding, for not judging. Thank you so much.”

“Who am I to judge you for the way you live?” Mitchell replied simply, lifting a hand to run his thumb along the bottom of Phaedron’s right eye, collecting the moisture there. “We all have to do what makes us happy. And being a man makes you happy, doesn’t it?”

Phaedron nodded, looking up into his eyes. “Yes,” he said softly. “Except when people treat me like I’m some sort of crazy deviant. I didn’t ask to be born this way. I couldn’t help it.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” now his thumb cleaned the bottom of the other eye, and Phaedron’s pink lips opened a little. Mitchell was so, so tempted to kiss them…but that would be taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable person. He couldn’t do that. With a soft sigh, he dropped his hand. “Come on over here,” he urged, and led a shaky Phaedron over to the leather sofa nearby.

Phaedron’s brows shot up, and he cast a glance of mingled suspicion and arousal at Mitchell. He shook his head, singling slightly., “Lay down,” he said, pushing Phaedron toward the couch.

The jockey frowned at him, but at last he lay down on his side on the couch. Mitchell picked up the throw blanket draped across the back, and spread it over Phaedron’s slender form. “You should get some rest,” he told the jockey, leaning over to run his hand through the ebony curls. 

Phaedron blinked up at him. “Don’t you want to…” he began hesitantly.

“Join you? So much that it’s hard to hold back. I really find you attractive, Phaedron. Yes, even though I know you were once a girl. But you’re vulnerable right now, and I won’t take advantage of that. We’ll discuss this another time, when you’re more emotionally stable. I promise you that. For now, get some rest while I go play the good host for my guests. Sleep well, Phaedron.”

 

He left the library, closing the door behind him. Phaedron watched him go, his eyelids already trying to close. He felt wrung out, exhausted. That crying jag was the thing he’d needed for such a long time, but he’d had no one to hold him and empathize with him before this. Mitchell’s compassion and understanding had simply undone him. But now, there was Mitchell’s admission that he was attracted to Phaedron. How did he feel about that?  
Amazed, astonished, and almost giddy with happiness. That’s how he felt. How could someone like Mitchell Camfield want someone like him? The man knew he was a transgender, had even seen him when he was still a girl, and was still attracted to him. What kind of miracle was that?! 

As he drifted wearily off to sleep, a little smile played over his lips. The universe appeared to have decided to be kind to Phaedron Ramsey for once. It was about time; he needed a lucky break.

 

Mitchell quietly entered the library a few hours later. He’d made excuses for his jockey, telling his other guests that Phaedron had left because he’d been tired and had a full schedule tomorrow. He’d forced himself to circulate and work the crowd for awhile longer, even though he really did hate these kind of things. Since he’d organized it, he had to be the good host whether he liked it or not. 

He paused in the doorway, seeing that Phaedron was still sound asleep on the couch. The jockey’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was evening. He looked peaceful and very young, and Mitchell’s lips lifted in a slight smile. He didn’t want to disturb Phaedron, but he also didn’t want the man to get stiff from sleeping on a couch all night. So he padded over to it, and bent at the waist. He easily scooped up the sleeping man in his arms, and carried him out of the library. Phaedron’s head rested on his shoulder, charming little snores occasionally breaking his even breathing. 

 

He stirred as Mitchell began to carry him across the foyer and toward the wide staircase that led upward toward the bedrooms. “What?” he asked muzzily, lifting his head a little to blink up at Mitchell. He looked baffled.

“It’s all right, Phaedron. You were asleep on my couch in the library, remember? I’m just taking you upstairs to one of my guest bedrooms. I don’t want you driving home when you’re this worn out, but I also don’t want my best jockey getting stiff lying on my couch.”

“oooh,” Phaedron mumbled, rubbing his nose against the front of Mitchell’s dress shirt. “You smell good,” he added sleepily.

“You’re hard on a man, you know that?” Mitchell said between gritted teeth as he swept up the staircase and bore his sleepy jockey to one of the closer guest rooms.

Phaedron’s smile was slightly wicked, proving that he did, indeed, know his affect on Mitchell. 

Mitchell snorted affectionately, but somehow managed to open the door one-handed and carried Phaedron inside. He took him to the large bed and sat him down on the side, using one hand to keep him half-upright and the other to pull back the covers. Then he started to unbutton the front of Phaedron’s shirt.

“Are you gonna take advantage of me?” Phaedron asked hopefully, a sweet little smile playing over his lips even though his eyelids were half-lowered and he couldn’t keep a yawn from escaping.

“Maybe later,” Mitchell told him. Efficiently he stripped off Phaedron’s shirt, shoes, and pants, leaving him clad in only a pair of dark-blue boxers. 

“There we are,” he said, his eyes tracking over all of the soft pale skin revealed by his nimble fingers. His sharp eyes found the scars from the surgeries that had removed Phaedron’s breasts, though they were small and pale. He licked his lips a little as he stared at tiny pink nipples just perfect for sucking and licking. 

Phaedron’s lips curved up even more, and a truly evil expression passed over his face. “Would you like to see the new me?” he asked coquettishly. “The last time you saw me, I was still a girl. Do you want to see the new parts, Mitchell?”

He groaned. “You’ll be the death of me. And I promise I’ll want to see all of the new parts very soon, Phaedron. But for now, it’s sleep for both of us,” he leaned over and kissed the tip of the jockey’s elegant nose. “Get under the covers,” he ordered as he straightened up again.

A pouting moue. “Okay, Daddy,” Phaedron grumbled as he burrowed under the turned down covers.

Mitchell shuddered and closed his eyes at these words, fighting down a surge of lust. Apparently he liked being called ‘Daddy’, something he hadn’t known before this. He’d never really seen himself as a Daddy Man. But if he could be Phaedron’s Daddy Man…oh, Jesus. He really had to get away from this line of thought before he had an accident in his trousers. 

He opened his eyes, and saw that Phaedron had already fallen back asleep. One hand was curled up near his cheek, and he looked utterly innocent. Also, completely edible. Mitchell shook his head and leaned over again to kiss Phaedron’s forehead, before he left the bedroom and Phaedron to a good night’s sleep. He wanted his jockey well rested for tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phaedron has a bad couple of weeks, thanks to Mitchell

Phaedron pulled up, and Last Crusade began to ease down to a walk. The finish line was behind them; the winner’s circle still to come. He smiled as he patted the horse’s sweating shoulder. He’d done so well! Last Crusade was a talented creature, and Phaedron loved riding him. They had a psychic connection when they were racing. He always seemed to know what the horse was thinking. They worked together as a well oiled team, and Last Crusade’s win count was climbing steadily. Phaedron knew that Mitchell was very pleased with them both.

At the thought of the horse’s owner, Phaedron frowned slightly. His mind went back to the party a couple of weeks ago. Mitchell had held him, kissed him, carried him to bed - and shown a definite interest in him, in spite of the fact that he was aware of the fact that Phaedron was a transgender male who’d been born female. 

He’d felt amazingly good the next morning when he woke up in a bed in Mitchell’s house, full of hope and a budding happiness. Mitchell was attracted to him. Handsome, powerful, intelligent Mitchell Camfield was interested in HIM! He’d been looking forward to their next interaction with great anticipation, but Mitchell had already eaten breakfast and left the house for work by the time that Phaedron have ventured downstairs. The cook in the kitchen had fed him breakfast, then he’d left to go to his house and change. He’d gone to work himself, his thoughts mostly filled with Mitchell.

 

But then…for the last two weeks, he’d barely seen anything of Mitchell. The man had only come to the track once, briefly, to watch one of his horses run. He left immediately after the race without even speaking to Phaedron. The jockey had watched him walk away with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Had that night in the study been a mere fluke? Had Mitchell changed his mind, not wanting anything to do with a freak like Phaedron? The man could have anyone he wanted. Why would he want some skinny little jockey? And a jockey who’d once been a girl, to boot? Why else would he start avoiding Phaedron the day after he’d shown interest in him? He must have changed his mind in the cold light of day.

Phaedron sighed as he guided Last Crusade toward the winner’s circle. He should have known. He was destined to be alone for the rest of his life, just because he’d been born into the wrong body. Oh, well. At least he still had the horses and his riding. If he ever lost that, he’d be thoroughly screwed. Because he had nothing else. Nothing whatsoever. 

 

Mitchell scowled at the men sitting around the conference table. He didn’t want to be here. He really didn’t. Why, oh, why, had this business deal decided to of south the day after he’d made his interest in Phaedron Ramsey known to the jockey? The timing was appallingly bad. He was sure that Phaedron was upset with him, but there was nothing he could do. He was so busy trying to fix this snafu that he barely had time to eat or sleep. He should call Phaedron and explain, but he’d let it all go too long. He doubted that Phaedron would even want to talk to him now.

He’d thought that he could clear it up in a few days, so that’s why he’d put off calling Phaedron. He’d been sure that he could show up at the track and explain himself a couple of days after the party, and all would be well. But then he’d been forced to make an emergency trip to Hong Kong, and he’d been gone for over a week. He simply hadn’t had time to call the jockey, and he’d been so tired from jet lag and the negotiations that he simply fell into bed each night anyway. By the time he’d flown back, over a week had passed. He hadn’t called or talked to Phaedron in all of that time, and he was sure the jockey probably thought that he’d lost interest and was avoiding him. He didn’t want to have the important conversation, where he groveled appropriately and tried to make it up to Phaedron as best as he could, over the phone. So he was waiting until this deal was finally wrapped up, which he was pretty sure would be today. If he could just get these idiots to see the light, that is…if he had to spend any more time here, while a man that he liked and was attracted to suffered under the misapprehension that Mitchell was a total asshole, he was going to lose his shit. But he had little choice. He could lose his entire business and his fortune if this deal collapsed yet again. So he’d stay, but he didn’t have to like it. 

 

 

Phaedron emerged from the jockeys’ changing room, dressed in street clothes. He paused, taking in a deep breath, before he started toward the parking lot. It had been a long day. Every day seemed like a long day anymore, lately. His eyes kept searching the stands for Mitchell’s tall form, and when it was never there his heart got heavier and heavier. He was a fool for mooning over a man who clearly didn’t want him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He really needed to get over himself and move on. There were other fish in the sea. One of them had to be a man who could handle dating a transgender person. Right?

He approached his car. As he did so, a long, sleek black vehicle pulled up next to him. A door slid open, and Mitchell Camfield stuck his head out. “Get in the car, Phaedron,” he said abruptly to his jockey.

Phaedron frowned blackly, but this WAS his employer. He couldn’t afford to make Mitchell angry. So he silently climbed into the back of the limo, sinking into the leather seat next to Mitchell as the man waved to his driver. The door closed, and the driver pulled away.

“Where are we going?” Phaedron asked tightly. 

“Somewhere we can talk,” Mitchell replied. Phaedron noticed that he looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He wanted to ask if Mitchell was all right, but in the end he simply pressed his lips together and said nothing. Silence fell in the limo, as Mitchell leaned back and sipped at a glass tumbler full of liquid. 

The limo purred through late afternoon traffic. Phaedron stared stonily out the window, trying to ignore the man sitting next to him. But that was impossible to do. Mitchell was too big, and had too much presence, for him to entirely ignore the man. He fidgeted, feeling annoyed. He was the wronged one, here. So why did he suddenly feel kind of guilty, like he’d done something wrong? He scowled out the window, wishing that this was all over.

The limo pulled up in front of a restaurant. Phaedron stared at it. “What are we doing here?” he asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Mitchell.

“I told you, we’re going to talk,” Mitchell replied calmly.

“At a restaurant? Why?”

“Because I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are too,” Mitchell said smoothly.

Phaedron opened his mouth to protest, but Mitchell ignored him. He got out of his side of the limo and came around to open Phaedron’s door for him. The jockey scowled up at him, but the man continued to ignore him. He simply led the way into the restaurant, and Phaedron had little choice but to follow him. He was starting to get really mad now, and wondered if he’d lose his job if he made a scene in the middle of the restaurant.

A beautiful hostess seated them at a small table, and a waiter came with menus. Mitchell opened his, scanning it. Phaedron simply sat there glaring at him for a few moments, but when Mitchell ignored him he finally looked at his own menu. The food all sounded delicious, and although there were no prices on the menu Phaedron suspected that it was also quite expensive.   
Finally, the waiter reappeared with glasses of water and bread sticks.   
Mitchell ordered, then looked expectantly at Phaedron. He almost growled, but finally ordered baked halibut and steamed vegetables. The waiter bore the menus away. Mitchell turned to Phaedron, looking steadily at him over the tabletop.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, surprising the jockey. 

“For what?” Phaedron asked warily.

“For not calling you or talking to you for the last two weeks. I know you must think that I’ve been avoiding you, but that’s not the case. I had a business deal fall spectacularly apart the day after the party, and I’ve been trying to clean up the mess ever since. I even had to go to Hong Kong for a week. I’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time to breathe. I did get to the track a few days ago, but couldn’t stay for more than the race. I just wanted to see you. I knew that calling you and trying to tell you this would be a mistake, since you were probably pretty angry with me. So I brought you somewhere neutral to apologize, explain, and tell you that I didn’t change my mind about you at all. I’m really attracted to you, Phaedron. I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear. I would have loved to spend the day with you after the party, but I simply couldn’t. I should have called and explained sooner, but the situation was so bad I simply didn’t have time for any kind of conversation.”

Phaedron didn’t know how to react to this. “How bad?” he asked tightly, feeling some of the ball of hurt that had been in his abdomen loosening a bit. 

Mitchell looked sober. “So bad I could have lost everything if the deal fell apart entirely,” he said, meeting Phaedron’s eyes.

“Wow,” the jockey said softly.

Mitchell nodded, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Like I said, it was a madhouse. I was so busy I barely got more than a few hours sleep a night for the last two weeks. I thought about you all the time, though. About what we shared in my study. All I wanted to do was get back here and be with you. Do you believe me?”

He looked so somber, so unhappy, that Phaedron couldn’t help but do so. The sun was trying to break out in his heart, and bathe everything in sight with a golden glow. “Yes,” he said softly. “I do. You…really hurt me, though,” he couldn’t help but add. “I thought you’d already changed your mind about being with a transgender freak.”

“You’re not a freak!” Mitchell barked, frowning terribly at him. “Don’t ever call yourself that.”

Phaedron found himself smiling widely. “Yes, Boss,” he murmured. 

Mitchell stared at him, then snorted slightly. “You cheeky little beggar,” he murmured. “Anyway, does this mean you forgive me?”

“I think so,” Phaedron said, cocking his head to the side a little. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Mitchell frowned a little, but nodded. The jockey knew that he wouldn’t have to think about it for long, though. He’d only wait a little bit, just enough to punish Mitchell a bit for not calling him. Then he’d forgive and forget, and they’d be able to explore whatever this thing between them was. He was really looking forward to that…


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phaedron forgives Mitchell, and the two of them have a celebration.

“So, do you forgive me?” Mitchell asked.

This was like the sixth time that he’d asked that question in the last week. Phaedron hid a smile as he gazed across the table at his date. Mitchell had been wining and dining him every night for the last week, trying to make up for his abominable behavior the two weeks before this. So far, he hadn’t yet given Mitchell the forgiveness he craved. It was far more fun to let him dangle and squirm. 

“I’m still thinking about it,” he replied simply, still hiding his grin. 

But Mitchell could see the way his eyes were sparkling above his fingers. “I get the feeling,” he commented, with a slow smile of his own, “That it’ll come sooner than later.”

“Do you? Get that feeling?” Phaedron said, lightly, his eyes still gleaming.

A nod. “Yes. And when you do forgive me, we’ll have to do something to celebrate,” Mitchell added. “Now, I wonder what that could be?”

Phaedron finally had to let loose with his chuckle. “I can’t imagine,” he replied.

Mitchell’s eyes took on a gleam that made parts of his anatomy stand up and pay attention. “Oh, I think you can,” he said softly. “I think you can.”

“Now you’re putting me in a predicament,” Phaedron chided him rather breathlessly. 

“How so?”

“You’re making me want to forgive you, just so I can get my celebration,”   
Phaedron told him. “But I’m not sure that I’m ready to do that.”

Mitchell shook his head. “It’s up to you, of course,” he remarked. “Whatever you want to do, Phaedron. You were the injured party, here.”

Phaedron considered him while sipping his glass of water. He seldom drank; a jockey couldn’t really afford to. “Yes,” he agreed slowly. “But you didn’t do it on purpose, and your very business was at stake. You’ve done everything that you can this week to make it up to me, and I appreciate that. What’s more, I appreciate the fact that you don’t act like I’m some kind of freak, as well, just because I’m trans. You’re a true gentleman, Mitchell.” 

He shrugged, uncomfortably. “I don’t know about that.” 

“I do. Very well. You’re forgiven. Entirely and completely.” 

Mitchell let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Now what do I get as this celebration?” Phaedron asked curiously.

“I was thinking of a carriage ride in the park, followed by a romantic moonlit walk - followed by a long night of fucking,” Mitchell said softly but firmly.

Phaedron let out a long breath. “Sounds like a very good itinerary,” he mused. “I can definitely be down with that.”

“Great,” Mitchell said with a smile. “It’s a date, then.”

“Isn’t this a date?” Phaedron questioned him. 

“Yes, but this will be the date after this date. An after date,” Mitchell said with a small smile. 

Phaedron chuckled. “An after date. Pretty cool, Mitchell.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, sounding rather smug. 

Phaedron lifted his eyebrows and shook his head, but he also giggled a little. Being with Mitchell just had that affect on him. Being wanted by someone who knew who he was, and who he’d been, and didn’t care in the least…it was amazing! Mitchell was so kind, so handsome, such a good man - who wouldn’t want to be with him? Yet he’d admitted that none of his former relationships had lasted for very long; that most men just didn’t seem to understand him. This boggled Phaedron. What did they need to understand? Mitchell was a fairly simple man, in his eyes. In the best possible way, that was. Kind, down-to-Earth, straightforward and honest. Phaedron liked all of that about him.

“So, about this carriage ride,” he began. “Can we make out while we’re taking it?” 

Mitchell lifted his brows. “What else are carriage rides for?” He asked simply.

 

So they did. They rode a beautiful white carriage with silver scrollwork around the park at a sedate pace, sitting on dark-red velvet cushions, and made out ferociously for at least ten minutes of the twenty minute or so ride. The driver chose to ignore them, since he was probably used to this behavior from couples taking rides in his romantic carriage. 

Mitchell finally came up for air. Phaedron’s face was so beautiful by the light of the lampposts they were passing. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, his inky curls mussed. He was just so edible! And that’s what Mitchell wanted to do, eat him from the ground up. “Screw the romantic walk,” he ground out. “Let’s just go straight home.”

Phaedron’s eyes went half-lidded. “That’s an agenda I can get behind,” he murmured. 

Mitchell leaned forward. “Driver!” he rasped. “Stop the carriage.”

They paid off the driver with a handsome tip, which visibly pleased the man, then set off hand-in-hand toward Mitchell’s Mercedes. They were both moving quickly; anticipation filled them as they got in the car. But Phaedron also felt a little bit of worry. He was finally going to be showing Mitchell all of his transformed body, with its scars and visible signs that it had once belonged to a woman. What if he reacted badly? He’d be so utterly humiliated, he’d never want to show himself naked to anyone else again. He really cared about what Mitchell thought about his body. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, which Mitchell heard. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I…yeah,” Phaedron replied after a moment. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“About what?” Mitchell sounded genuinely puzzled.

“About letting you see my body. I’m…I used to be a girl, Mitchell. And I have scars…”

“I know you used to be a girl,” Mitchell pointed out patiently. “And I’ve already seen some of your scars. They’re fine; the don’t mar your body at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Listen, if I wasn’t okay with a trans person, I’d have never hit on you in the first place,” he said in some asperity. 

“Yes, but knowing that I’m trans and actually seeing it up close and personal are two different things,” Phaedron said with a sigh. 

“Well, let me decide that, okay? Whatever happens, I will not reject you just because you’re trans, Phaedron. Believe that,” Mitchell said empathetically.

Silence fell in the car for a bit after that. Phaedron was still uncertain, and Mitchell obviously sensed that and was giving him some time to think. The jockey almost wished that he’d break the silence, but at the same time found it almost comforting. They drove through the gates of Mitchell’s estate, and up to the front door of the big house. Mitchell drove the car around to the garage, where his assortment or expensive vehicles resides. He pulled in and turned off the engine. Then he turned to look steadily at Phaedron. “Do you want to come in?” He asked, simply. “If you don’t, I’ll understand.”

Phaedron hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “I want to come in,” he said softly when he pulled back. “I trust you.”

His words made Mitchell draw in a deep, surprised breath. Then he smiled. “Very well. Come on, then. I’ll show you my bedroom.” he said, getting out of the car and leading the way into the house.

“Having been here once before already for the party, Phaedron was still somewhat in awe of how large this place was. A mansion, really, full of antique furniture and artwork. He craned his neck to look at everything as Mitchell led him along by the hand up the huge staircase, and along to the master bedroom. It was an enormous room, with a hand-carved four poster bed and embroidered hangings draped over it. This sumptuous confection made Phaedron eye it in disbelief. “You sleep on that?” He asked Mitchell.

A nod. “Of course. Now come here, and stop distracting me,” he said, holding out his hand to Phaedron. 

Phaedron snorted, but complied. He came willingly into Mitchell’s arms, and let himself be thoroughly kissed. Surprisingly nimble fingers began to rid him of his clothes at the same time, and he lost all interest in objecting when Mitchell’s fingers slid inside of his shirt and pinched his nipples. His head went back, and he moaned waveringly. Mitchell took that chance to kiss his neck, nipping lightly at the tendons corded there. 

Mitchell’s hands went to work at his pants. He put down his own hands to stop him. “Wait,” he said, his anxiety returning.

“What is it?” Mitchell asked.

“I-I have a penis, but it’s pretty small. They constructed it out of my clitoris and labia, with a little extra thrown in, so…”

“Big, small, I don’t care. It’s a part of you, so I know I’ll love it,” Mitchell said tenderly.

He felt tears spring to his eyes. “You’re a good man, Mitchell Camfield…”

“I don’t know about that. But you make me want to be a better man than I am, Phaedron Ramsey,” Mitchell replied gravely. Then he swatted Phaedron’s fingers away, gently, and undid his pants. He slid them and his briefs down, revealing his small, slightly curved penis. He studied it for a moment, then lifted his eyes to Phaedron’s anxious ones. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed. “Just like the rest of you.” 

He felt tears spring up in his eyes again. “Mitchell,” he breathed.

Mitchell startled him by going down on his knees. “I have to taste it,” he said, as Phaedron stared down at the top of his dark head. 

His little dick jumped at these words, then he moaned wildly as Mitchell’s hot mouth took it all in down to the very root, and began to suck gently but firmly. He buried his fingers in Mitchell’s hair and held on for dear life.   
“Oh, God!” He cried, bucking his hips. “Mitchell! I’m going to…come!” 

“Let me feel that, baby,” Mitchell crooned, then took him back in again. Phaedron moaned and shook as his small penis jumped and twitched in Mitchell’s mouth, not producing any sperm(of course). It was just like a clitoral orgasm, which was basically what it was. Phaedron moaned and twisted, as Mitchell sucked softly at him to keep the orgasm going. 

Mitchell finally lifted his head, looking satisfied. Phaedron fell back on the bed, lying there languidly as Mitchell stood up and removed the rest of his own clothing. His body was sturdy and strong, and Phaedron silently admired it as Mitchell crawled onto the bed and laid himself over Phaedron atop it. He looked down into the jockey’s eyes. “Every part of you is beautiful to me,” he husked. “Your lovely little dick, your soft skin, your pink nipples, even your scars. Because they helped to make you into the desirable man that you are. All I see is an attractive guy when I look at you, Phaedron, not some weird freak who used to be a woman. You were always a man, even when you had female body parts. I understand that.”

“God, you’re amazing,” Phaedron breathed.

“No, you are.” Mitchell replied, just before he kissed Phaedron again.

After that, it was all mouths and hands, lips and tongue. Mitchell traced and kissed every one of Phaedron’s scars, letting him know silently that they didn’t bother him. Phaedron, in turn, sent his mouth questing over every bit of Mitchell’s strong body, sucking delicately at his thick cock until Mitchell groaned. Finally, Mitchell rolled him over and balanced himself atop his forearms above Phaedron. “I want you,” he breathed. “I want to be inside of you. Can I?”

Phaedron nodded. “Oh, yeah, definitely. But I’m going to show you my skills as a jockey now, Mitchell. So lay back and let me show you what I can do.”

To his delight, Mitchell immediately complied. Clearly he trusted Phaedron. The jockey draped himself over Mitchell’s larger form, rubbing his body against Mitchell’s to make the other man moan. “Lube? Condoms?” He purred.

“Bedside drawer,” Mitchell gasped.

“Great,” Phaedron slid away for a moment, returning with the necessary stuff in his hands. He straddled Mitchell again. Meeting his eyes, he never looked away as he slicked up one finger and reached back to slide it into his tight ass. “Mm, feels good,” he crooned as he swayed over Mitchell, his head going back a little.

Mitchell groaned deeply. This was the hottest sight he’d ever seen! Phaedron’s delicately lovely body moved over him, as the jockey rode his own finger. He was biting his soft pink lower lip in concentration, and his eyes were half-lidded. So sexy! So beautiful! It felt like his head was going to explode. 

Then a slim hand slid a condom onto his hard dick, and then slicked it up. He watched this with his breath panting in his throat. Then Phaedron moved backward, squirming, settling down over Mitchell to begin taking him in. He was sliding into hot tightness, and his head went back as he moaned loudly. “So good,” he husked, as Phaedron slid downward even more. 

“Yes, it feels good,” Phaedron agreed breathily. “You’re so big, Mitchell. So hard. Feels so nice.”

“Uhhh,” he rasped, as Phaedron began to sway atop him, riding Mitchell just like he’d ride one of his horses. He rose and fell, swayed form side-to-side, took Mitchell deep then moved up to almost release him, before falling atop him again. His muscles squeezed Mitchell’s dick relentlessly. His mouth was open, his eyes closed. He was so gorgeous that Mitchell was hypnotized. 

Phaedron’s slim hand wrapped around his own baby dick and began to jerk at it as he moved. He squeezed and squeezed Mitchell’s cock relentlessly with his internal muscles at the same time. “Gonna come,” he gasped.   
“Gonna come with you inside of me. Want you to come too, baby,” he crooned to Mitchell.

Mitchell groaned. “I’m going to come, too,” he husked. “let’s do it together.”

So they did. Phaedron drove down and moved up, hard, and his hand jerked at his own cock. Mitchell pushed up into that hot tightness and came, just as Phaedron cried out atop him and those internal muscles convulsed around Mitchell’s dick. They both shook with the intensity of their orgasms, and Phaedron collapsed atop Mitchell’s chest, lying there in an annihilated heaps. 

So that’s what it was like to be ridden by his jockey, Mitchell mused when his brain returned from Orgasm Land. If that was so, he couldn’t wait for the next ride to take place…


End file.
